


Encre

by Kapla_Quail



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baroque, Alternate Universe - Historical, Conversations, French Aristocracy, Keeler the progressive model-husband, M/M, Music, Nobility, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Slaves, draft, gallant evening entertainment, love crosses any borders, study, tilting at windmills, unfinished stuff I still liked too much to keep from you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25843846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kapla_Quail/pseuds/Kapla_Quail
Summary: Paris, 1658. An evening's party in admiral Giovanni Beringo's palais. While the bearded old man, his best friend Sir Elias Cook and a dozen of rich, male, mostly young guests are engrossed in conversations, a gentleman on horseback and his servant are approaching the gate in the darkness. The latter carries a torch and a viola da gamba while underneath the former's hood, long blond locks shimmer. Who can this strange, delayed guest be?
Relationships: Cook/Phobos (Starfighter), Deimos/Phobos (Starfighter), Encke/Keeler (Starfighter)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3
Collections: Starfighter Summer Challenge





	Encre

Simon de la Quille, comte de l'Alliance, entered the horseshoe-shaped palais over the beautiful perron and doffed his cloak and his sword. It had been a while since he had come here for one of the regular soirées. His friend, the weatherbeaten navigator Giovanni Beringo, had spent months of travels in the new world and in the south of France. Tonight, the captain celebrated his return, and de la Quille didn't want to miss this occasion to rekindle so useful a contact.

He was late already. Hortense had felt sick today and in her state he hadn't been capable of leaving her alone. He had at least wanted to attend her and put the children to bed that were kept awake by worry. Had he not had the security of the two maids taking care of his wife now, he wouldn't have left his premises at all.

As he now entered the luxurious apartment, amongst the other guests he immediately beheld the tall, broad frame of the bearded Italian seafarer, cled in his usual courtly black doublet and cloak, adorned with an immaculate, large falling band. In the moment de la Quille advanced towards the admiral, Beringo took notice of him, too, and disentangled from his collocutors with a cry of joy.

"De la Quille, mio amico fraterno! What a pleasure to be reunited with you again!“ And he clasped the small man to his broad chest, evoking the count's laughter.

"It's been such a long time!”, he complained. “Ah, and I was so sure in the meantime you'd do me the favour to grow a little!“ Beringo eyed his friend in joking criticism, then shook his head in disappointment.

"I'm very sorry, capitano“, the count laughed, "but I fear on me nothing will grow any more – except for the hair, as is self-evident.“

"Now that's a typical 'de la Quille'!“, the older man laughed, loudly enough to make some other guests turn towards them and study the blond newcomer curiously. "But it's true, your hair has become a real glory. And for the rest - you had the luck to never outgrow Alcibiade's perfect body, carissimo, and even to maintain the young god's face! Vezzosetto, sbarbato... But what about those pearls?“

And he leaned forward to examine de la Quille's hair-accessories more closely, clicking his tongue in delight. The short blond chuckled and squirmed, afraid the Italian could derange his fancy hairstyle, more appropriate for a woman, as one had to admit.

"Hortense gave them to me“, he explained eventually. "We've started sharing such things at some point.“

Beringo laughed again, his sunburnt, bearded face full of fatherly insight. "Ah, Hortense. How is she? Do you still get along so well?“

De la Quille smirked and blushed, folding his hands behind his back as was his fashion. "My wife is allright, thank you for asking, capitano. I'm just a little worried about her lately. She's expecting again, and after what happened, it's difficult for both of us to...“

"Ah, relax, figlio“, the captain interrupted impolitely and slapped the shorter man's back quite forcefully. "She'll manage just fine. That's what women are made for, after all.“

De la Quille contorted his face and was about to object, but Beringo didn't let go of his shoulder and complimented him into the crowded salon.

While the count turned his head to greet the elegantly dressed noblemen, to admire the turkish carpets draped over the tables and the overflowing étagères with fruits and treats, the admiral took notice now of de la Quille's servant. The man was still carrying the viola da gamba, and Beringo laughed again.

"I see you brought your instrument, de la Quille! What a coincidence, because Jules happened to bring his along as well. Maybe you can delight us with some duets later in the evening?“

The small count raised an eyebrow. "Jules? That's the young de Bouteville-Montmorency, right? I don't think I've met him before“, he mused.

"Ah, that's right! See, the lanky blond over there, that's him. He's Cook's current fosterling.“ And Beringo rolled his eyes, sighing. "Well, we men of greek tastes can't do without some new distraction from time to time. That can't be helped, can it?“

He didn't notice de la Quille's raised eyebrow because his look greedily wandered towards a dark figure sitting in the rear of the dining room, next to the other valets. De la Quille, attentive, followed his glance, and to his big surprise he realized that the man Beringo was devouring with his eyes was.... a Moor.

The long-haired count startled, suddenly in need of fumbling with one perfectly ironed lock that framed his girlish face.

"I assume you're speaking of your own distractions as well?“, he asked, still a little baffled.

Beringo leaned on his shoulder again. "My latest acquisition. What do you think of him? I brought him along from the plantations of Surinam. Those slaves, I can tell you – no inhibitions. There's a neverending choice of them, and they're so deliciously uncivilized!“ He shuddered in pleasure while he emphasized every syllable. "This savage is capable of things you and your little wife don't even come to dream of. But you won't have forgotten your upbringing, mio amico, and as you know, I'm always eager to share with a friend. So why don't you join the musical evening at Cook's place on thursday? Amongst our gallant company, you would as well please as be pleased, if you know what I mean.“

De la Quille inhaled in a pained way, because in that matter, Beringo was completely on the wrong track. Granted, before his marriage the count had been part of Cook's circle and its activities for quite some time – as was expected of a sapling of his rank. Being young, he had even enjoyed that talking politics often enough went alongside with certain manly sports. Since he prosided over his own family, however, de la Quille had sought to retreat to the position of a quiet observer, leaving the active roles to men that seemed unable to outgrow the youth's greek desires.

The count was fondly in love with his wife and completely taken up in his role as husband and father. So he stoically abode his friends' usual teasing and lampooning him for being effeminate, contaminated even, and about to loose his male fire. He thought he couldn't care less.

Now, however, he was surprised how his eyes were magically attracted by the exotic, dark servant lurking in the shadows. Certainly, de la Quille had seen Moors before, as it was a fashion to keep at least one of them, especially in a fine lady's household. Yet, never had he seen one looking as dangerous and intimidating, as dismissive and unsubdued. The man stared back at de la Quille with a provocative truculence, his white eyes seeming to burn through de la Quille's clothes, stripping him down to his breeches.

The sensitive count could only imagine what this individual had had to endure before ending up here in Paris as the admiral's toy. Even dismissing the most cruel images from his mind, the mere thought of a slave's condition in the colonies brought de le Quille close to fainting.

"You bought him“, he established acrimoniously.

"Of course I bought him!“, the admiral exclaimed, petting de la Quille's gloved hand in delight. "But to speak the truth, fanciullo, he's priceless. Ha ha! Cook!“, Beringo shouted, still laughing about his own wordplay. "Look who honours us tonight!“ And without the slightest tact, he dragged his guest towards the opulent, crowded dining table.

“A woman”, Cook was about to explain to the young men surrounding him, “doesn't feel anything during intercourse except in the case her body is getting impregnated. In all other encounters, she's nothing else than faking arousal to entrap men. That's common knowledge, my friends, yes, it's even proven by science!”

The youths were laughing in assent, but de la Quille had to hide his little coughs behind a hand when hearing this utter nonsense. Luckily Beringo interrupted the tall, blond Englishman before his 'knowledge' could make him ramble on.

“Cook! Would you please have a look at our special guest tonight? Messieurs, I'm delighted to introduce you to Simon de la Quille, count de l'Alliance, lieutenant of the royal navy and secretary of foreign affairs in the State Ministry.”

The count bowed, then took a seat, and soon he was included in the group's lively conversation that thankfully didn't involve women any longer.

…

"How do you call him?“

"Encre. I mean – come on, he's black, isn't he?“, and Beringo laughed an exaggerated, drunken laugh.

"Indeed he is“, said de le Quille, taking a nip of his wine and casting a shy glance towards the man that disconcerted him not little.

"I think, the most important question is: Is he black everywhere?“, Jules asked, hiding his blush and giggle against Cook's shoulder, his chiseled features softened by the wine and probably by his lewd fantasies, too.

Beringo, the old whoremonger, was of course delighted by such curiosity. "Oh, I bet a lot of people wonder about that, am I right?“, he laughed. "Ha ha! Maybe I should lend him out to those who deserve to find out.“

De la Quille's mastery of logical deduction kicked in immediately. "So you _did_ think about using him as a spy, then, too?“

"Him, as a spy? Heaven forbid! That savage can't put anything else to use than his ass“, Beringo explained, eliciting chuckles of his counterparts. "He isn't even capable to read or write his own name!“

All men laughed again, but de la Quille looked the admiral in the eyes very seriously. "Did you ever think about teaching him?“

"Teaching?“ Beringo probably had no idea what the count was talking about.

"Yeah, that's right“, Cook intermeddled, "De la Quille teaches his children, isn't that so, Simon? Even the girl, as I heard.“

Jules sighed mock-affectedly. "Oh my God, de la Quille, you're such a hopeless idealist!“

Cook, however, inclined towards the idea. "But he's right, Giovanni. When he's teaching _girls_ , why not a slave, too? Who knows what new possibilities that would open up...“

Beringo murmured something in Italian and nodded before he found the right language again.

"I see. Listen, de la Quille. You achieved other unbelievable things in the past. So what about tuesday? I expect the Russian ambassadors that afternoon and as matters are, the Moor will definitely be no good to me then, haha. As long as I deal with Alexeevich and Demossov, you can have him. But I want to see results, otherwise we abort the experiment. Settled?“

De la Quille nodded and confirmed the appointment with emphasis.

Jules, in the meantime, sighed dreamily: "Demossov...“

"Right!”, Cook exclaimed, “Jules has already gotten acquainted with Demossov! Do you want to delight us with that charming story, my dear?“ And he stroked a lock of hair that fell into his lover's face.

"Ah, that story is better fit for our thursdays”, Jules retorted saucily. “What about some music instead?”

And so, the gamba duets came to Beringo's mind again.

...

While the two blond musicians picked up their instruments and got ready to settle on two chairs opposite the dining table, Jules, maybe because of too much wine by now, showed his usual contempt again.

"I'm going to play the top part“, he hissed towards de la Quille – much to Cook's and the whole company's amusement.

De la Quille, however, had never felt an inclination to show off his technical skills anyway. His job had made him a tactitian creating his networks in the background and leading others without them ever noticing - exactly like in continuo playing. So when they were finally done tuning and Jules started with the melody of 'Une jeune fillette', the count just accompanied him with simple, yet beautiful chord progressions, eager to build a perfect fundament for the other to shine upon.

The count and the young de Bouteville both were fine enough musicians to cause pleasure to the audience. In addition, every listener had to confirm what a splendid sight the two young men made: One the dandy, refined gentleman with his perfectly groomed hair and beard, dressed in the most exquisit garments, exuding superiority and pride through every pore. The other looking like a well-born maiden in man's clothes, with those elfish features, the pearls in his hair and those piercing aquamarine eyes that matched his doublet and breeches, equipped with most elegant fingers that had ever wandered over a viol's neck.

While Jules de Bouteville-Montmorency increased the difficulty and ingenuity of his diminutions with every new stanza, while they passed from variated folksongs to improvised dance movements in the style this German organist had recently made popular in Paris, Simon de la Quille bent his smiling face over his instrument devotedly, focused, becoming absorbed into the music and his own play. He didn't notice how he enchanted the gathered assembly, how every man fawned over his slender, spread legs that embraced his viol. And a dark figure lurking in the background kept its inscrutable, wolfish eyes glued to him the whole time.

**Author's Note:**

> A quick note about 'effeminate men': Contrary to the modern sense of the term, in Baroque times 'effeminate' didn't mean a man looked or behaved like a woman. A man was called effeminate when he spent too much time in the company of women and had too great a taste for them in general. As women were generally considered capable of stealing men their 'viril force', hanging out with them voluntarily was believed to cost you your masculinity in the long run.  
> To look and act like a woman, however, was considered acceptable, and homosexual adventures were common and even encouraged as long as they took place before a man's marriage.


End file.
